


Dreamland

by savaged



Series: Gotham Nocturnes [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: 60s but not campy at all, Age Difference, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Fluff, M/M, fighting crime and developing a crush on your teen ward, headcanon: dick likes the beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne's infatuation for the Boy Wonder has reached another level, and seems to stay invisible to the kid's state of oblivion. Escalating towards putting their lives in danger and stirring his subconscious, it menaces to break his stability apart and push his sidekick away while he tries to save him from Gotham's threats, as well as from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (i pictured Dick being around 16)

 

All the colors have faded from Gotham City's walls to gather in Dick Grayson's bright being. His mentor's sure of that; no other hero can make Batman loosen up and unwind, nor release an electric impulse across each of his nerves when he throws a rippled laugh, like it's the most beautiful and irritating sound of the world, as the boy’s skinny legs brush his thick thighs while jumping off of buildings together. He makes death feel alive.  

He looks even tinier burying his fist against Clayface's back, burying his arm elbow deep until his fingers spread inside and the dense substance menaces to suck him in. He disarms Clayface from  _inside_ ; figures that must feel incredibly weird, to have someone mess up your body like that, and pulls out his head to breathe in; “let go of Batman, you monster!”

Clayface releases Batman’s leg, and the ribcage of the mythic caped crusader makes a terrifying loud crack as his side hits the floor. Dick feels his ankle twist and the hard substance that surrounds him swallow up his whole leg from toe to knee, then surround his thighs and harden around his leotard, pulling from it, pulling and pulling until the kid sinks his hands in to hold it in place. It pulls the edges of his cape, too. It cuts all blood flow going through his neck and Robin pictures his head exploding -because, the pain feels like it,- and gives in. The clay sucks his stomach, his back and chest, his shoulders up to his chin and he hears the Batman say one last thing; "they'll have to glue you back in hell before I let you hurt him.”

 

The policemen don't dare approach the scene yet. There's a deranged halo around the cowled man, blood dripping from his lip and a piece of cloth gone missing from his left side where the kid's hanging onto. His skin's been ripped apart. So, they stare at them from significant distance.

Batman pushes his flat palm on the base of the Boy Wonder’s stomach, making him gag and cough violently forwards, spitting a ridiculous amount of dirt near their feet like he's puking what he's eaten for an entire week. Batman sighs, relief washing the atmosphere before the eyes of the concerned neighbors and agents. Robin runs a small hand across his mouth.

"Gross," he giggles.

"Are you okay?"

"Just thirsty."

The Dark Knight nods at detective Gordon and his group of people holding what seems to be a small sized fridge; a vehicle parked on the street ready to go. The others have gathered half of Clayface's remains, rushing since it's never an easy job, and it can't be delayed. Clayface can come back altogether any second.

"This is all."

Gordon takes out a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt. "He's a strong kid."

"I know." He hands Gordon a sedative for Clayface in case the agents don't make it to Arkham in time, and turns to his small partner. "Come on, chum." Robin tilts his head, stops rubbing his filthy cape and bolts towards the hero,  _his_  hero. Gordon narrows his eyes at the duo, but it might be an effect of the cigarette smoke getting behind his glasses, pale over the shadow cast upon his eyelids.

 

-

 

He turns the boy around, pulling the trademark domino off his dirty face. Behind him, the panoramic window which portrays a bloody line upon the horizon's fogged up, blurring the landscape surrounding the Wayne Manor and the upcoming dawn. Tiring fields of green grass lay under a limpid sky that slowly blushes, crawling towards the furious blue of day. They got nothing on the shaking boy before him.

He unbuckles and tosses the destroyed utility belt aside, pulls up Robin's scarlet vest and gets his face unstuck from the hole of the head. His raven hair looks like a mess of briars caught in the mud of a swamp, and he looks from his short height up to the Batman.

Bruce's still dressed in his night gown -the potent black cowl, the hard as coal thick gloves that cover his fingers, the rough-textured bullet and fireproof suit that adjusts to him as a second skin; ripped up and down and wet of blood- and Dick trembles uncontrollably, filthy and reeking of dirt and rain before the fully dressed, unmasked vigilante. They exchange a quick glance before Dick glances away.

"Sorry for ruining the suit. I'm such a fool."

Bruce shakes his head. He doesn't care, but Dick takes it as a sign of him being bothered by it; bothered because the discarded pieces he gets him out of are either worn out or torn. The cape that Bruce so skillfully untied from his neck lies in shreds by the door of the bathroom. I’ll be a long time before Dick grows intuitive of what the man wants or needs to actually say.

Besides his natural lack of speech, Bruce's throat goes dry. He entangles in the task of unbuttoning Robin's emerald undershirt, dizzy between the rising steam of hot water entering in contact with the marble of the bathtub and the sense of solitude that the big Manor provides. The stream covers the silence while falling down from the taps and crashing against the surface, and Bruce tries to focus on it rather than on the boy who gnaws at his plump bottom lip, eyelashes long over ashamed eyes.

"We'll get you a better suit as fast as we can," he tries to smoothen the situation, getting to the last button and sliding the cloth off Dick's arms. It reveals an almost unscarred chest struck by shivers and heaving lungs. Dick could be doing this himself if he wasn’t shaking like a leaf before Batman, before Bruce. He’d been terrified. Too close to death. Ashamed of having stayed so stiff and scared before it.

Bruce puts a gloved hand on his shoulder and squeezes; it's soft, and young, and smooth, everything Bruce's not; even familiar under the pressure, similar to the consistency of a sweet fruit. "Look, I've got you whole. Forget the suit."

Dick opens his mouth like he'll say something, then closes it and looks away. Not just  _away_ , but to Bruce's hand, and smiles. "Okay. You'll always have me whole."

Bruce's Adam's apple bobs up and down above his costume. The gown's strangling him, it  _knows_  that Bruce has gone through fear tonight. It smells it. And now Bruce's terrified, and Dick asks "that means I'll have you whole, too, right? Forever?" So Bruce gets his hand away from him.

“Sure.”

“Hey. Wait, where are you going?"

This night’s been a disaster. The wound that kisses his ribs is almost comfortable in comparison to the realization that his strength has become another one of his weaknesses.

 _Robin_. His beautiful bird.

If he'd stayed, he'd seen the boy's embarrassed face, his doubt. Dick was never embarrassed. Bruce was never so unassertive.

"I need to get out of this suit, Dick."

"You'll get distracted in the batcave and leave me waiting!"

"I- Well, you're not exactly wrong" Bruce tries to smile, failing and grimacing instead. "I'll still come back. Have my word on that."

"D'you promise?"

Dick's question's left hanging on the main bathroom's thick air.

 

-

 

He falls asleep with his chin above the surface of the water. His toes are above, too, never reaching the other side of the marble and a lonely black hair lock falls through his forehead all the way down to his nose. A frown of frustration while waiting for Bruce's arrival has faded into an expression of deep calmness. Bruce can hear his deep breathing, laying a hand on his arm.

He’s sitting on the border of the tub with the pants of the batsuit still on, a simple white shirt covering his torso and black socks wrapping his feet. The wound’s covered by a huge amount of bandages tinted of maroon- He hates when Dick sees him stitched up.

Still stupid with fatigue, Dick lets the man scrub his body with a tenderness that puts him back to sleep, and dream with the smell of roses of the soap moved by the circle motions of Bruce's sponge. The warmth of water becomes a womb for his tired limbs. He wriggles for the movements of Bruce's fingerprints on his scalp, the pressure of thick thumbs running over his earlobes and sideburns stopping by his open lips to wipe away some foam. It's alluring. He stops by his shoulders and chest, belly and barely haired navel, hips, thighs and knees that wobble. Dick squirms, so sensitive while Bruce holds his right leg up and laughs with closed lips when he rinses it.

"You're tickling me", he mutters.

"Sorry."

"I don't mind."

But of course Bruce does. He rushes and turns him around, squeezes the sponge watching the rolls of water race down Dick's slouching back. His breathing's sharp, mind focused on picturing future scars. Having Dick's body as limp under his hands is almost unholy, and the electricity it pours, unbearable. Scary stuff. Infuriating. He's seen him naked many times before this; never touched him. Never would.

"Come here."

Bruce holds Dick's robe and watches him zombie-walk to it, dripping water all over the floor and pressing himself against Bruce, lying his head on his chest with eyes closed.

"It's  _sooo_  cold out here..."

The man dries his damp hair with a towel, letting him clutch all he wants as he brushes his hair back with fingers used for making people bleed. Dick's small mouth sighs.

The window's been cleared and the plug of the tub pulled to let the lukewarm water go. After he guides Dick to the hallway, he's left alone gazing the pink shade of an awakening sky. Under his clothes, goosebumps rise against the incoming cold of the morning. The hair on his arms stands.

He dries his hands with the same towel he used to dry Dick's hair. It still smells like him. He buries his nose in it, inhales. He feels dead inside.

 

-

 

The birds and butterflies, the clouds and rays of sun which touch his face are a blessing. Bruce respects the sounds of nature flourishing around him until Alfred arrives, and damns himself.

"I see you have finally chosen to come out and appreciate the beginning of day, master Bruce. It's a delight, isn't it?"

“I’m just out for the week, Alfred. Good to see you, too."

The butler stops in his tracks before going upstairs and glances at the closing door of the foyer with certain knowledge, certain intuition. He cleans the water coming from the bathroom to Dick's bedroom door, later on.

The day has finally come.

 

-

 

"What's wrong, sir?”

Dick munches a piece of waffle and dips another one in syrup. His lips are oily and crumbles spread around the corners; Alfred hands him his handkerchief.

"I pissed Bruce off."

“Why would that be?"

He furrows his brow and cleans his mouth; rearranges the pieces of waffle on the plate, leaving them untouched and pushing the plate away, giving it a stern glare. "I ruined the Robin suit. I deserve it, I made a disaster out of it."

"He has torn more suits and capes than I can count, master Dick. And that is only taking last month in count." He wishes it was otherwise, but that's how the man keeps on being stable. "Left to say, that is not a valid reason to claim Bruce is riled, for any chance, with you."

"Then what did I do wrong?" Dick drops the fork on his plate and the rattling sound startles the butler; the kid's head falls forwards in silent defeat. Bruce's not anywhere to be seen and it’s been days like this, since they fought Clayface. He's simply  _gone_. "He'd never do something to piss me off and there I've gone and ruined it all! I hate myself! And so does him!”

Alfred twists his lips, regains composure. "I believe he will arrive from his trip tonight. If you get the chance, I recommend you talk to him.”

 

-

 

Bruce descends from the cab with small sized luggage and elegant mien,  _and_  a beautiful blonde. She’s the kind of woman who has mastered the art of blinking slowly and heavily, a total showoff when running her eyes through Bruce's looming figure under the dusk. Dick watches, and bites his bottom lip. He kisses her hand goodbye acting like the gentleman he's supposed to be, the usual procedure.  _So that's where he's been these last days._

"Are you ready for patrol?"

Dick looks past him and shakes off any resentment in his voice. He smells the cologne in him, the foreign scent of his secret trip, the presence of the woman in the car.

"When am I ever  _not_  ready?"

"That's my chum." The corners of Bruce's lips go upwards, but nothing else on his face moves. He's changed.

"Where have you been these last days? I missed you."

"Business." He means it's  _his_  business. He means  _mind your business_. Dick gets the message as quick as he leaves to get his new Robin suit.

 

The bright plastic-smelling new suit with a brilliant and bombastic yellow long cape and flashy green boots waits for him at his batcave locker. Dick runs his fingers through it, smells the bulletproof material, scratches the leotard listening to the texture bend under his nails; he notices it's bigger, too, adapting to his developing figure. While studying it, he remembers who got it and shoots his head up.

"Thanks, Bruce."

Bruce doesn't say a word.

 

-

 

They gaze at stars so close they can touch them, skyscrapers so high and empty; watchtowers of dystopic Gotham. Robin basks in its grandeur, the majestic distance they hold from the ground as they follow the tracks of Mr. Freeze around the city. From there, they see  _everything_ , even the small spots of light changing directions in the horizon dressed in the undistinguishable blurry shapes of cars. An expression that repeats on kids meeting Santa Claus for the first time shows in Robin's lightened up face, and he sits by the edge of the building dangling his feet over hundreds of windows, marveled by it all. He likes heights.

"Are you still mad at me?" he turns his head to the lurking figure by his side, because despite whatever landscape he savors nothing tastes better than Bruce's kindness towards him.

"There's no time for chatter now, Robin."

Dick twists his lips.

Bruce mind wanders through Gotham’s far away streets, extremely focused on the sounds coming from different floors of the building.

He doesn't want Dick to think he's anything but mad at him- but he can't let his guard down. This is- this  _must_  be the moment he builds the cold relationship of respect he needs around his younger ward. The image any moral hero possesses, over any sentimental flaw they bare-  _They?_ Bruce feels he'll lose his mind, Dick hasn't even grasped the concept of  _love_ at his age, of any other kind of non-familiar union. He has barely grasped the concept of  _death_.

"Someone's coming."

"I know."

His mind's split between the image of a city so beautiful with a terrible depth and bright lights and a boy of the same description.  _God help him._ Dick countenance shines against the sharp glow of Gotham, so small under his stare, so fragile, so warm…The metal railing from where Robin hangs becomes cold to the touch, makes him hiss as his fingers feel frozen.

"Batman..."

The temperature drops dozens of degrees in seconds, and the scientist's voice who's now climbing to the roof through the emergency staircase sounds loud and clear; "here you are! The prey found the predator!”

Once the railing freezes, Dick's hands slip and so does his body from the metallic platform he's sitting on. Struggling, he takes out his grappling hook and holds himself putting one foot on the roof's floor, while his body hangs on the air above the imminent fall. He holds his breath, watching the rope slip and fail to keep still around ice layers.

"Don't move" Batman grunts, dodging Mr. Freeze's ray and distracting him before he gets to the boy. The man wears a shit-eating grin approaching the crusader, and says "did you think I'd come without company?"

Robin raises one eyebrow when two men jump up from the emergency stairways, running to get Batman. He huffs in indignation and gains enough impulse to get at the rail before the rope gives, throwing batarangs at them before one of his new shoes go loose, and he loses balance. He has no grip left.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Flying Graysons are going to make a special number tonight. Dick doesn't know why -each number they do means something to him; something great and special enough to make him enjoy his way of living. Of course, he breathes in a strange atmosphere- But according to the cruelty of the storm, the more intense the better. He loves the way the wind messes up his hair and lifts him mid-air.

He’s walking around the circus bare-footed. The people who came to see the show stare at him, expectant, unknowing of what will happen next, excited and drunk in the feeling of anticipation. He loves it. The applause, the smell of popcorn, the rustles of kids on their seats, the cries of the elephant saluting the guests. The smiles on strangers’ faces, ropes burning the skin between his fingers, his short nails scratching the insides of his hands.

He's in the center of the crowd, the focus of attention that draws away the stares. He looks up to bow 'thank you’, and up, his mother and father look down. They both hang from the trapeze, saying things they could never say -and won't say, anymore. Dick chokes when he sees them, unable to speak a word of what will happen next and it's an asphyxiating sensation, because he can't warn them about the _special_ number they'll perform, like guilt has a hold on him. Instead he screams, and screams, and screams as a bunch of no-sense comes out of his mouth and the moment repeats itself…

Two pair of arms take him when he collapses, broken, damaged, between darkness -a dark cape. It's a strong kind of darkness. He basks in it, in the words of encouragement that slip out of Batman's mouth, in the comfort of all that pure, neutral black. He can relay on it, fly around him, be his bright bird, _shine_. He can wake up.

 

-

 

Alfred finishes applying ice to the violent bruise that covers the temple of Dick's unconscious head. He leaves the door open so the lights of the second floor's hallway stain Dick's room; he's been having nightmares these last couple of weeks, and cookies with chamomile tea won't do the trick anymore. He looks anxious each time he says 'good night'.

Alfred leaves Bruce's door open, too; and turns on the security alarm before leaving the manor. All the security procedures are strictly followed with no mistakes done, keeping the Wayne fortress isolated of the outside world for whatever hours are left of the night. The thick walls of the manor don't let the sounds of the highway, the city, the owls, the screeching of the wild life, surpass them. They don't echo nor reach Bruce's ears.

He doesn't have nightmares, because he barely sleeps and the times he achieves it it's all about lucid dreaming. Funny how the man who can master any state of mind fails at the simple task of going unconscious at will; on the other hand, he's very relaxed when the soft thumps of knuckles sound against the wooden door. Dick's a shadow standing against the light of the hallway, surrounding his pillow with one arm, trembling, a motion that reminds Bruce of watching one's reflection on the waves of a rippled water surface. He immediately sits on the bed.

"Dick?"

The strangled huffs that indicate he's been crying dart the silence. Dick's voice is small, like his body in proportion to the door's frame. "Can I come in?"

"Yes... Do you want me to turn the lights on?"

The boy shakes his head 'no' and turns the lights off himself. He walks in, taking short steps in a bee line to Bruce's california king, then drops, climbs under the feather covers, and buries his face in his pillow. Bruce watches him over his shoulder, fixes his t-shirt and gets back under the duvet.

Bruce's room is... Big. Lonely big. Dick's left staring at the ceiling for a while and feels lost; the place's the physical embodiment of emptiness without Bruce's presence in it. There's very little detail he can visualize with all the lights off, besides a squared closet next to the window that faces the back garden, and a huge ceiling lamp set in the center to scare the darkness away. He's sure he's stepped on a furry carpet by the side of the bed, too... Now that he thinks of it, he's never been in Bruce's room before. Or rather, not in his bed, nor alone with Bruce. He becomes silent. Maybe he shouldn't have come.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asks. He's close, head on another pillow and voice low and hoarse; Dick feels the heat that his body radiates, the slow heart beating, the heavy inhales and exhales, dragged by his soothing calm, like the charming quietness of a bear that can turn to a beast at any moment. He doesn't dwell too much on the contrast. All the beasts at the circus were majestic and could never bore him. He turns around to face him, making the sheets rustle.

"Yeah. I just don't like my bedroom."

Bruce snorts. "And you like this one better?"

Once his eyes become adjusted to the lack of light, he gets to see the shinny path where tears have left their mark on Dick's cheeks. He also sees the kid approaching to him. Bruce stays quiet.

Dick surrounds him with skilled arms, lean legs that attach to his sides and his back, adjusting to him like he's shaped to be a giant pillow. Bruce stays _quiet_ , his mind sharpening the image and feel of closeness of Dick's elastic body wrapped around his, embracing him. He puts his soft cheek against his chest, lays his temple upon the soft place -in theory, the only one- just above where Bruce collarbones meet. Then, once Dick melts into sleep, Bruce closes his eyes.

 

-

 

The man sees a brooding bay sank in mist, under the darkness of a starless night and the shimmering silhouette of Gotham. He's gazing upon the black water, echoes of gunshots and sirens eating the back of his mind, making white noise and forbidding him to focus. His boots hover over the river, the birds sweep the firmament alarmed and cautious of the wild wind currents; his cape floats, a weightless silk behind him caressing the pavement of the docks.

His fingers gently pull locks of hair as if he's petting a kitten. He looks down and expects to see his favorite anti-heroine, playing and purring on his lap shrieking in contentment because, she'd never give up a chance to torment the Batman also during his dreams, but what he sees severs his quietness even more. Dick grins, takes off his domino and crawls over him taking his face between his small hands, feeling the rough mask of the Bat under his fingers. He laughs, and laughs in a childish way like what he's doing is just part of a game, _his_ game.

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and pulls, soft cheeks against the awful stubble Bruce keeps for days at times. He chews and keeps him still as his thighs straddle his lap; he sucks in his lip like he's wolfing an ice cream, tasting a lollipop, biting Bruce on purpose, swallowing him up. The grip feels so real Bruce distinguishes where the leotard ends and the skin of Dick's thighs begin, its hem; the kid wanting to rip off his mask, the weight of his body bouncing on top of him. It's too real and too loud, the sound he makes, how sharp his teeth feel. He wants to yell at him but there's Dick's mouth covering his. So he pushes Dick onto the water.

 

He huffs and opens one eye when Bruce's hand stops brushing his hair.

"What happened to me when Mr. Freeze came?"

"You slipped." His voice sounds almost robotic, deeply affected by his visions. His hand holds Dick’s hips back and he gets away smoothly, an obvious sign of detachment that Dick dismisses with a smile, pretends it's because of Bruce's wounds and the pain he earns from applying pressure on them. Obviously not irritation. Or the fact that he’s almost sure he hates him.

"We went through a glass window and you hit your head after I caught you."

"Did Mr. Freeze escape?"

"Thanks to you, no. If you hadn't stopped his men, we wouldn't be here."

Dick blushes and lightens up, "gosh, that's good news."

Bruce doesn't mention he hunted Mr. Freeze down and beat him until he cried for help and not feeling his arms, or legs, under the suit. "You should sleep now."

“Wait, can I ask you something?" Dick inhales, "do you hate me?"

 _Au contraire._ Bruce hushes his corrupted mind. "I'd never."

"Then why do you ignore me? Am I bothering you?" He's bold _._ Bruce adores it, and despises it in this very moment; despises everything he's ever adored about his boy.

"You couldn't ever bother me, Dick."

"Okay." But what else would he say?

Dick turns around and gets away from him, with a hint of confusion. There's something else Bruce isn't telling him. What if he made too many mistakes as Robin? He dwells on doubt until he falls asleep, crawling a couple of meters away from Bruce upon his bed, since the push was too obvious and he hadn't enough strength to push back.

 

-

 

The morning receives them asleep on the same pillow, Dick lying on top of Bruce and slightly drooling on his shirt; Bruce holding Dick back. The soft blues of the sky apply to their skin giving them a special glow that startles Bruce's eyelids as he wakes up, matching the tranquility of the hours of day in which the world seems to remain still.

There’s a tray with breakfast on the night table with each portion augmented to two -a pair of coffee cups, a pair of plates with steamy scrambled eggs, a pair of blueberry pancake stacks, two sets of painkillers and so on. Little Alfred things, which makes Bruce smirk.

He doesn’t question Dick's presence until he tries to move, feeling the lump of warm flesh above him. Trying to not wake him up, he calculates each move. He untangles their arms and wraps Dick in the duvet to later roll him to a side, goes brush his teeth and wash his face and comes back to take his own things from the tray of breakfast, but when he returns Dick stares at him with eyes wide open and focused.

"You snore a lot."

Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, sighs folding his pajama shirt. Dick crawls from under the covers, climbs through him and hugs his torso.

"I thought you were silent even when asleep" Dick buries his little finger in Bruce's ribs and the man wriggles, snorting. "Do you have tickles?"

"I have bruises, now that you ask. Lets get up."

"No, no,” Dick pokes him again and Bruce loosens up, "right here. Yeah. You're _ticklish_."

"Dick..."

"Oh my God, the kid probes again and Bruce glares down on him, becoming a wall of seriousness. Dick's too lost in his new discovery and keeps on spotting the places that are not covered by bandages, and presses on them like buttons that will make some kind of magical change in Bruce, in the massive block of muscles. He doesn't see the ferocious glare and hands approaching that shove him away, holding him face down against the bed. Dick's not even alarmed, his breathing slightly hitches in his throat because he knows what’s coming. Bruce starts to tickle him.

“No!”

The room fills with loud chuckling and a lot of screaming into the mattress, and the air's full of swings of kicks thrown at nowhere in particular but close to Bruce's head. It's an invitation. The torture goes on and Dick's eyes get wet with tears of laughter; Bruce rolls him around the mattress and holds him down when he tries to escape. At one time, Bruce slips his hands under his shirt.

"Stop! Ah- Hahahah- NO! _Noo_ , please I'm gonna hit you-" 

“Try it, go ahead."

Dick pouts and throws a soft right hook that Bruce easily dodges. His hand travels around Dick’s belly, touching the sensitive parts that make him huff.

"Harder."

This time, the punch is more aggressive, an immediate response to Bruce's word. Still, the man dodges it, catches Dick's fist and retains it, keeping both of Dick's hands in one of his. "That's it. No breakfast for you."

Dick furrows his brow and uses all his strength to kick Bruce's chin with his knee, stopping before it actually hits him and using the distraction to escape Bruce's grip. The boy crawls, pushes the man back on his knees, proudly sits on Bruce's lap and rubs his hurt wrists, "what about now?"

He smirks, closes his eyes. Dick's close. _So_ close. He breathes in his scent, each element of whatever his shampoo and his soap and skin is made of, and realizes it's mingled with his _own_ and that Dick's on his bed with his hair ruffled and his pajamas wrinkled, pink cheeks glowing and a playful smile on his lips and it's all because of _him,_ and _only him_ , and he can't help but swell with mesmerizing infatuation. His boy has won.

"What about now? What do I get now?"

"A breakfast rich in carbohydrates. C’mon.”

"Are you still mad at me?" Dick wraps his arms around his neck. "I won. I deserve to know."

Bruce tenses and straightens up, getting the same reaction in Dick. The kid casually straddles him and hangs from his nape, "I _need_ to know what happened.”

Bruce's heart beating picks up. It's _still_ happening; it's just arrived to an upper level he prefers not to wander around. When it comes to being with Dick, everything tends to speed up at a terrifying pace. And Bruce hates not being in control of the situation, so he changes the track, lets Dick handle it. "What do you think happened?”

Dick frowns. "If you're not mad at me and it's not about our way of fighting criminals -because, you would totally share _that_ with me," Dick's eyes search for Bruce’s approval and he nods his head. Dick smirks, "then... You wouldn't share something with me because…” Dick’s arms give up on the hold and return to his sides, so it’s Bruce who surrounds Dick's waist now, holds him.

"Go on."

"Because I'm not someone to trust anymore?” Dick's hands cover his face as a sniff breaks him down, "I'm sorry I don't stand up to this role, I-"

“Dick.”

"Trust me, I try to do my best- I’m a disaster!”

“ _Dick_ ,” Dick rubs his wet eyes with his fists, uncovering them to shamefully glance at Bruce. He's got the man’s face hovering his, the sharp texture of his stubbled jaw scratching his chin as he pecks his cheek with rough lips. "Don't even consider that a reason," he hugs him, "ever," Dick bounces on his lap due to the tight embrace, "I'm _so_ proud of you, you can't even begin to imagine." The boy grins and a chuckle escapes his lips. He plants a small kiss on the bruise that paints Dick's temple, his hair covering a bit of skin so he swipes it away and tucks it behind his ear with a thumb. “And I’m terrified of losing you. You mean the world to me."

“You, too. You know that.”

"You're years behind to understand the meaning of what I'm saying."

"I'm not."

Bruce smirks into his ear and Dick feels the motion on his lobe. He grabs one of the small hands on the back of his neck and puts his mouth on the it, holding Dick’s frozen stare from under dark lashes, mimicking the scene he performed with the blonde last night, this time slower. Carefully, as if he’s holding a butterfly by its wings, trying not to hurt it. He feels the thin veins under his lips, the smoothness of the knuckles and the warmth of his young skin, the scarce hair on it, the rush of adrenaline that pushes him to keep kissing his hand like he’s his prince. And _he’s his prince_.

Dick’s mouth opens unable to find proper words, at loss, hypnotized by the man and his suave gestures. He’s enamored by the gentleness used in caressing his hand like it’s supposed to be anything else, and the thought stirs every part of his self, excites him. When Bruce gets his mouth away from the boy’s hand, Dick’s quick to protest, catching the next words Bruce will say about his age and not being up to _understand him_ with his own lips. He grabs Bruce’s face and forces him to stay still, settles around Bruce, falls into place, where he belongs, attacks his solitude. He rubs the wrinkled front of his pajamas against the broad, damaged chest of the man who can barely focus on the desperate face crashing against his, calling to him in a hushed voice in the middle of hungry pecks and small kisses; focusing on every spot where his body meets Dick’s and the flawed nature of it all.

“Dick.”

“ _Bruce_.”

“Dick _, stop_.”

“I don’t want to,” he defies him. “Whatever happened… Whatever you’re in, I’m in, too, Bruce. I swing your way,” he breathes into his mouth, giving way to an incredible amount of confidence in his voice, a confidence not proper of a kid his age. “We’ll find a way out of it, together.”

And instead of pushing the boy into deep waters, he clutches to him like a life saver, giving away shaky, nervous breaths. They're both deep in now.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

His green hair’s slicked back with oil, shining under the broken lights of Crime Alley. He’s smoking a cigarette, chilling against the wall watching a parade of rats take over the street, camera hanging from his neck.

The sound of dozens of little feet stepping on the concrete makes the man in the purple suit smile even more, and their high pitched shrieks cover his ears. Tasting the fine Lucky Strike between gloved fingers, the smoke he blows goes up in swirls and turns to nothing. He stares, and stares, and the rats march.

“Are you cuties out for saturday night, too?”

The rats are busy. He inspects their wiggling tails.

“You lack the wings, but sure as hell you’re one step away from being the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen,” Joker giggles. One rat stops and jumps on his polished shoe, chewing on the leather. He kicks it away and crushes its head, cracking its little skull. “Filthy fuck. I should hand you all to the mud monster. Speaking of which…” The man raises an eyebrow, “where’s _he_?”

-

Batman covers up his cuts while Robin swings from the window sills, engaging in a one-sided fight with rodents. Police sirens echo announcing their late arrival to a crime scene -Batman had the decency of calling 911 this time, at least. 

“That’s their territory. You might want to step away before one of them bites you.”

Robin jumps through the prominent bricks of the wall and sits in front of Bruce, legs spread, toying with the heavy man’s cape and the shapes it makes when he grabs it.

“What about me. What territory am I in now.”

“Get back, Robin.”

“Don’t be a bum! Everything went as expected, it’s just missing the adrenaline factor” the kid finishes, pulling from the cape and making Bruce turn around to face him. The man’s _smiling_ under the mask.

“What adrenaline factor?” He isn’t the one to make the questions, but it’s fun to follow the lead. Robin clutches to him and kisses the mask softly, the very delicacy of innocence, until he moves down turning kisses into small hungry nibbles.

Batman grunts. He returns them with closed eyes; focused expression, brushing Dick’s tongue with his own. It’s soft, mushy, small; careful to explore him for the first time, warm, probing. Dick inhales sharply and holds himself steady from the railing he’s sitting on, pushing Bruce onto him with his legs wrapping behind the hero’s hips. His head’s pulling awkward poses, exaggerating the grip on Bruce’s jaw -God free him from considering wherever Dick learned to french kiss like this, insisting on getting his bulge to rub the insides of his thighs. But there and then, the kid gasps and fails to respond to Bruce’s pecks across his face. He’s staring in awe at a figure behind the Batman.

“What a lovely _sight!”_ The flash of a camera lightens up the alley and a man chants, delighted, “an interspecies symbiosis scene only for _me_. Bad luck I’m not a creepy old man, _yet_ ” he frowns upon Batman, who takes a deep breath and mutters ‘don’t fall for it, Robin.’

“I heard what you did to Clayface. _Terrifying_ move, clear message; nobody sucks your boy-toy,” he giggles, “except for you. Now, I’m not much of a _voyeur_ myself and I don’t plan to make this long- The rats have led me here. What does that say about you? They smell the young flesh and they _like_ it. Another thing you have in common with them, Bats.”

“Enough, Joker. We’re taking you down!”

“Hush, child! Let me talk with daddy, this is adult’s business,” Joker takes a gun out of his front pockets and points it at Robin’s head. “Stay very quiet and everything will go as expected.” The mad man shatters in laughter watching the concern in Robin’s face. “Kid, in case you didn’t know, I’m everywhere. I hear all kind of things.”

“Yet, you’re just here where I expected you to be,” Batman answers.

“Are you implying you used the kid as a distraction? You’re slowly approaching to my side, Bats.” The Joker cocks the revolver, “I like that.” 

-

 

Around the corner, Gordon’s signaling his men to proceed when he hears the shutter of a camera, a kid shouting and a chorus of scared rats run around the block.

He’s a smart and honest man, he likes to believe that’s why he has gained Batman’s trust. But he’s not good. No. Not a soul in Gotham is; the walls change the people, they become part of them. It’s the curse.

Gordon remembers that when he sees the Joker; the embodiment of all chaos he gets to confront as a routine. And he’s tired. When that maniac talks, it spits and gargles; it shouts “greetings to your daughter, Commissioner! How’s she doing? Imma pay a visit to her real soon,” and Gordon shoots at the criminal’s leg and watches him collapse, convulse on the ground as the rats are quick to run over him, over the hot blood pouring out of his shin and a sick smile spreads across his face.

“But the _pedophile_ ’s right there! Take care of that child, don’t shoot _me_!”

He’s tired and shocked, acting upon seeing Batman’s kid getting targeted. And he knows Batman is, too, simply tired of repetition. Even heroes can lose it sometimes; the caped crusader didn’t want to make a mess out of the criminal’s face so he chose the easier, faster way. Gordon. The Joker doesn’t seem too pleased about it.

“Yeah… Imma go visit Barbara real soon, Commissioner. See what she thinks about all of this little circus you’ve got going on. Maybe shoot her, too.”

“Shut the hell up, already. I’m calling backup. Are you two okay?”

Robin’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Batman nods at Gordon and takes Robin with him through the alleyway. When Joker waves his camera from the floor, Robin sticks his tongue out at him. Then they disappear, walking steadily towards the shadow. 

-

 

Newton's law of universal gravitation: the closer the bodies are, the more they tend to attract each other. Each time they get close, the pull worsens.

The batmobile goes by dragging time across an esplanade of awkward silences. There's no explanation he can give to his enigmas; his functions aren't fully operational; he’s lost his ability to apply basic logic. He's fallen in love with his ward.

Now, the Batman doesn't fear a thing. He wouldn't be the Batman then -the fear itself. This problem's based on... How can he love Dick more than he does? Than he did? It makes him feel frustrated; that he let his guard down and Dick’s essence got in, in every single place inside him. But it also makes him feel... _Strange._ Estranged from his own self; transcendental. When humans love, they become complete. He didn’t think himself to be human.

Such relationship doesn't coexist within the real world and its limitations and _never_ would. Never should exist. Insecure of being left alone with Dick inside his core, and Dick not being there to confirm his presence. Meaning, the Batman _dreads_ Robin knowing about this and vanishing into thin air.

He becomes insecure, unstable and paranoid. Pushes Robin back at every second, away from him- He doesn't need anymore of him, his nature, comely substance. But when kisses come and kisses go, he gets caught in the taste of Dick's lips, and remembers Superman being there, looking at him get lost in thought.

 

"I see," he says. He _understands_. It means so much. "This is good for you. I fail to comprehend why you see trouble in it."

"There's trouble in everything, Clark. Part of what I do is to solve it."

"What's the other part?"

"Not let it repeat itself. Cut the sickness by its roots.”

Clark gives him a pitiful smile, “real love isn't sickness, Bruce, it gives people's life a meaning. Look at you.”

"I get rid of people who hurt other people, that has nothing to do with-“

“You’d _hate_ people hurting your sidekick. Same feeling, different words." Clark takes a step up into the air and hovers around the bushes for a while, careful not to touch the spikes. The roses are a furious french blue color -he loves the Wayne Manor’s garden and its dark sky, which resembles that of the Kent’s farm.

"I see you as an open book, sometimes.” Bruce knows that, knows how deep the secrets they share with each other go, knows that Clark’s full of clarity when it comes to seeing things as they are. So he listens. “You’re hidden in the darkest of places, surrounded by your creatures and only those with enough light can read into your soul, yes? That kid… That _young man_ has found you and you have found him, and he’s a bright star" he glances at Batman in his civilian clothes, fears the moral of the hero surpassing the human beneath, fears that Bruce might not forgive himself for letting his emotions pour out. But at the same time, he believes in his best friend; in his strength. “The lights can be too bright at the beginning, Bruce. It's all matter of adaptation."

-

 

Back to the speeding car, Robin gazes at the flashing ads and rotten streets out the black-tinted windows. His reflection on the glass shimmers, feeling content with being by the vigilante’s side. Bruce casually drops a heavy hand on his bruised knee while holding the wheel, taps on it.

“The Joker counts as an adrenaline factor, right?”

“Nope.” Robin runs his fingers through the inside of his thigh, near where Bruce’s gloved hand rests. It stains his skin with oil and metallic residue, and he wouldn’t like it any other way. He’s _marking_ him. “But you held my hand through it. And I wanna hold your hand now, like… The Beatles.” 

“Like _the Beatles_.”

“Can I hold it?”

Bruce turns his hand palm up on his knee and spreads his fingers. Both hands of the boy could fit in one of his, and Robin lands his skinny fingers between the gaps left by Bruce’s, lacing them together. He moves closer to the driver seat and leaves a sonorous kiss on Bruce’s chin -there’s only silence coming from him.

“Can I sleep in your bed again?”

“No.”

Robin pouts. “Then can you sleep in mine.”

“We’re not sleeping together again.”

“Why not!” he pushes Batman and the man loses control of the wheel for an instant. He scolds Dick after that, returning the hand on his knee to its original place. “Oh, come on! Read something to me until I fall asleep. Then you can leave.”

“Aren’t you a bit old to be asking for bedtime stories?”

“I’m a bit young to be sleeping with you, too, it seems.”

Bruce sighs. Dick raises one eyebrow and smiles, victorious.

“Okay. Only one story.”

 

“What do you want to read?”

Dick lies upon the pillows of his twin bed, runs his fingers absent-mindedly through the inside of his thigh.

“What am I supposed to do meanwhile? It’s not like I’ll fall asleep.”

“Just close your eyes and think of somewhere nice.”

“It’s nice here already,” Dick moves to a side, leaving minimal space for Bruce to sit down. The mattress’ _tiny_ to him, like Dick. “What nice place do you think of when you close your eyes?”

The man sighs, and his whole body expands and contracts making the whole bed creak, in addition to Dick who wriggles trying to stick closer to him. He lies his heavy palms on top of his bare knees, puts Dick’s legs across his lap so they fit.

“I…” Bruce’s eyes sweep through the place. “When I drop by to check on you before going to mine… It’s nice here already, you’re right.”

“Liar. You watch me sleep?”

“You never fall asleep before half past twelve. So, no. It’s a rare thing to catch you asleep.”

“You _stalk_ me.”

“I care for your well being, there’s a difference.”

“I wish you’d _really_ care about my well being, Bruce.”

He rubs Bruce’s crotch with his socked foot. The sound of cloth against cloth muffles Bruce’s complaint, full of panic and wrath and want as to slip from his own moral codes into this boy’s thin twin bed. But he grunts “get back,” grabs Dick’s ankle and holds his leg up, feet away from between his legs. He’s not wearing the top of his uniform; his armor, he’s simply a man in a t-shirt and tights wanting to get the kid away from him -but the pull and gravity revolves all around him. He _is_ a star, after all, attracting space matter. Bruce feels merely like a lonely planet out of orbit.

“Sorry,” Dick mutters, legs split, “I got carried away. I’m sorry. It’s just… I admire you and -I don’t know how to keep showing you that.” Dick adverts his gaze from the man’s, confused. “I think I love you.“

“Dick, calm down.”

“But it’s that everyone’s so attracted to you and then there’s me and I’m not supposed to feel this way because I’m too _young,_ and I’m _your_ kid-“

Bruce gently leaves Dick’s foot down, rests one hand over his thigh to reassure him, try to establish some contact through his skin, emotional comfort. He sucks at it, and he knows. “We don’t need to have this conversation right now.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Dick looks panicked. “I’ve been all troubled up lately… And now you’re here and sure you hate me because there’s nothing you can do to some lousy teenager that thinks _holy Batman_ whenever he sees you without half your clothes on, y’know.”

Bruce smiles. “ _Dick-”_

“I’m losing it. Sorry. Shouldn’t get carried away like that. Now -should I just close my eyes with you in here?”

“Dick, I love you too.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“You do?”

Bruce shakes his head. Like he’s falling into a pit and there’s nothing he can do about it- a violent fall into acceptance. “Yes.”

“Like, _love_ love me” Dick crawls to Bruce’s lap. He pushes him back onto the mattress only to get on top of him, doubtfully so. It’s cute that he’s careful, and slow, and insecure in the sense that he doesn’t want to hurt a man twice his size.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

It’s almost unspoken, as if they’ve done this a lot of times before.

Bruce’s mass of muscle shadows his 5ft body entirely, covering the smooth light coming from the hallway. He’s made of the thickest thighs Dick’s seen in a man, the strongest will, the wiriest arms. He feels all of it on top of him. They stick together closely, since the bed might collapse if they move too much, unable to hold the weight of two grown males, and becomes too short for Bruce’s height -even when he gets on his knees to kiss the trail of dark hairs that run down Dick’s pale navel, asking for permission with a glare. Asking for permission to share as much love as he can across his skin, to shower him in compliments each time his lips enter in contact with him. He lays the edge of his teeth on the skin pillowed above his hips, runs his tongue through Dick’s crotch into the insides of his thighs and then nibbles there, on the soft meat rolls, where his legs meet his rear back. He holds them up with his fingers and a thunder of guilt and arousal runs down his spine, shaking him whole. Dick just smirks.

Bruce's a nibbler. Perhaps he never got over that stage of his childhood. Perhaps he happens to be a tease, when he sucks in a spot with wet lips and moves his tongue back and forth like it's a pacifier, and he's getting as much pleasure with that motion as the person gasping in content. He looks up to Dick, confirming the response, and the kid thrusts his waist up from the mattress in encouragement, gasping, his shaft starting to shapethe front of his underwear. He looks skinny beneath him, feels so small... Despite the powerful erection on top of his navel and the strong thighs under the palms of Bruce's hands. He massages them in circles, easing the tension away, giving a tranquilizing effect. The man leaves a bruise on Dick's skin releasing it with a soft ‘pop’ sound.

He clears his throat before speaking in the lowest key Dick's heard out of him until now, and he doesn’t understand him at first, doesn't get if he said 'I'm sorry' or 'don't worry' but any of the two work. He grabs Robin's- _Dick_ 's waist, brings their bodies together and thrusts onto him, erections running together and hips rolling. A large moan come out of their mouths at the same time, the difference being a gasp kept at Dick's throat for the bulge hiding in Bruce's pants. It's invasive. Frightening and daring and big and everything he's felt when in distress, when meeting a difficulty. Dick tries to focus, tackling down doubt and letting his hormones keep handling the wheel, burying the fear of Bruce's cock kept against his- 

He swallows and closes his eyes, and Bruce repeats the unholy rubbing motion over his navel, the straining abs of the man resembling a wall over him. He starts to feel too much, sense too much; searches for a more caring embrace and finds Bruce's eyes staring directly into his, making sure he doesn't frown or wince in doubt. Once he notices the held gasps, he slows down his thrusts, settling back.

"I want you to be sure before we-"

"I'm sure."

Bruce takes a deep breath even if it isn’t entirely true or accurate, sits Dick on his rear back and settles between his legs, on his knees. A devotee to him. He puts a hand under his tights and underwear, shifts his own hard on and takes it out; gives himself a long, slow stroke before him, member over the edge of his pants, menacingly standing towards Dick. It’s heavy, warm -engorged with the blood coming from his dizzy brain. Dark skin covers the pink head, retreating once Bruce takes his hand to the base of it. Dick bites at his bottom lip, stares.

"I need to know you still want to do this."

Dick nods. It’s like getting permission to drive the batmobile without Bruce looking. He grazes the tip of it with his nails and sees Bruce's expression turn blank. Encouraged, he takes the muscle in his hand, measures it, squeezes the middle -feels the heat, runs his thumb through the underside. He jerks it one time, fast, which rips a grunt from between the older man’s gritted teeth. Dick keeps pumping it, strong and steadily, curiously to see his mentor in a situation like this.

As a reward or rather instinct, Bruce grabs Dick's jaw and plants a deep kiss on his mouth, tangles their tongues and reaches his throat in furious attempts of covering his own gasps, his moans, his begs for a faster rhythm. The kid's wrist goes up and down working him, knuckles covering the hard veins jutting from the delicate, sensitive skin. Bruce's hair locks get messy with Dick’s. Teeth clack. He kisses him, swallows, tries not to come all of a sudden, and goes back to kissing him. His boy wonder, touching him _like this_ , in the dark of his own room. His hot breathing goes frantic against Dick's cheek. The boy’s lips become swollen; his hand, tired, and his arousal _aches_ for attention.

Bruce manages to huff “you’re beautiful,” moving his hold onto Dick's ribcage to bring him closer. It’s so easy to handle him, even if he’s a gentleman already -not the kid he would spin around in the air, carry like a bird,- but his arms are forever strong and he takes him, lifts him from the bed, carries Dick through _his_ manor, strong muscle and forearms holding his knees up and his back.

Dick can do as little as stare at the stubbled chin of the man from down on his arms. His beautiful mentor, his role model, his best friend. Batman.

His erection presses against the side of his thigh and bobs as they go upstairs into Bruce's floor, his realm.

 

 

When he throws Dick into his california king, his body bounces. The man smiles, all charm and virility, discharging his underwear on the floor and getting rid of his shirt, advancing over Dick who has positioned himself in the center of Bruce’s bed.

Bruce caresses his feet, his legs, worships every inch of his skin, tugs the waistband of Dick’s underwear only to let it snap back. He removes his shirt and traces his nipples and collarbones, wraps a hand around Dick’s neck, reducing the oxygen and blood stream that goes into his head. He watches the boy relax into the hold of his hand and wrap his legs around his waist, so to let him know he’s not letting go either. The chemistry of his blood starts to change, his mind dizzy and seeing blurry when Bruce shoves his underwear down with his free hand.

“ _Amazing_.” He shakes his head. “You’re amazing.”

Bruce’s taking control of his body and continues to seize his moves, his limbs, his breathing and his blood stream, and the speed at which his thoughts run. It’s scary to be at the mercy of the crusader. It’s hot. “ _I can’t-_ “

Bruce changes the pressure. He lets himself touch Dick and the boy lets out a whiny “ _hot damn_ ,” covering his mouth afterwards. Bruce smirks. It’s enough to make Dick’s limbs go tense from the arousal, push his head back harder against the pillows and start leaking precum. He’s about to word an apology when Bruce presses his cock against the back of his thighs and rubs, making him feel the thickness and shape of it on his skin. Raw.

Bruce likes it raw. Of course. It’d be the only way to come around him -Dick’s alarmed at the thought.

The older man takes his right nipple and gives him a soft pinch, pushing the head of his shaft into the tight entrance which doesn’t give. Dick grits his teeth and presses himself against it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much resistance his body’s willing to give. His arousal’s making his head spin. That, and the lack of oxygen. 

“ _Bruce_ -“

“Lets take it slow.”

“Don’t care,” Dick wraps his hands around Bruce’s arm and holds still.

There’s also the protective side of the man, holding his small back as he guides himself inside Dick’s warmth, his body a sacred temple he’s getting invited in to pray. This is the way he prays. _Dick’_ s the way he prays. “This will hurt a bit.”

 

Dick cries. A lot, actually; gasps and shrieks and tears rolling down from the corners of his eyes, and his voice broken and sharp like crystal glass being crushed by thunder, by a man who’s muted by the holiness of his body. And because of said man, there’s no more crying after short moments -or rather there is, but sweetened by pants of pleasure that turn into scattering groans. Groans that turn into spasms; spasms that turn into a shattering climax. Bruce can’t get himself to look away. It’s like watching a painting come alive, all before him -Dick melts in his hands, and he melts inside his body.

 

-

 

Dick emerges from underwater. The brooding mist shakes before the greedy boy who wraps around his legs and pulls him down -Bruce falls into the small embrace, splashing and drowning, sinking into Gotham’s infested river. He’s not afraid to swim the dark waters. Dick’s his bright beacon. He holds his right hand.

 

“You’re safe now,”

he says.

“I got this. I got you.”

 

-

 

Bruce lifts his face from the pillows. The intercom won’t shut up.

“It’s 6am, Alfred. This better be important.”

“Sir, you might want to see the front pages of today newspapers.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

 

He sips his coffee and holds a journal, an overplayed scene if it wasn’t for the full page picture revealing a wide-eyed Robin staring at the lens of the camera, being kissed by a wounded Batman, eyes closed in expression of pure bliss -the kid’s legs wrapped around him pulling his cape and all. It’s even soothing, not a sharp surprise. 

The titles of the different media magazines are similar in essence; ‘Robin turns 18’, ‘Homo- _hero_ tic’, ‘Joker plays Cupid’, ‘Gotham scandal’- It’s not quite as bad as Bruce had anticipated. The people do love them after all, enough to not be bothered by their type of affective bonding. He doesn’t blush. He likes it this way. 

Deeper into the reading, there’s many ‘ _I knew there was something up between them_ ’ kind of reactions, and a couple ‘ _this is a ‘love against crime’ story_ ’ idealizations that make Bruce smirk, until he comes across a psychology article dedicated to a thorough analysis on Robin’s attachment to the Batman, stating that the older man created a need of dependance on the kid that will scar him for life. He rips that page off, throws it away.

“Why only that one, sir?”

He sips his black coffee, stares at his butler. “It’s bullshit,” he says, and Alfred smirks. He considers it a little victory, and he’s about to say something when Dick arrives to the kitchen wearing one of Bruce’s sleeping shirts, which goes past his underwear before it reaches his knees. His hair’s messed up and his lashes are long, covering his half-lidded eyes.

“G’Morning crew.”

“Good morning, master Dick.”

He stumbles dragging his feet through the floor and sits next to Bruce. Alfred hands him a plate of fruits and pancakes while Bruce folds the papers and sweeps them to a side, then kisses Dick’s temple.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Dick yawns and stretches his arms, hanging one over Bruce’s shoulder. It’s as if they’ve practiced that gesture for years. “Almost didn’t hear you snore.”

“That means good, then.”

Alfred pretends he’s not there when they share a soft lip kiss over their breakfast. When _Dick_ decides to share a soft lip kiss, since Bruce stiffens and it takes him a lot to give in. There’s some reason. He tastes like bitter coffee and Dick, like minty heaven. 

“Don’t you have things to do today?”

“I’d rather do them with you, if you don’t mind.”

“We already did a _lot_ together yesterday.”

Bruce’s ears go red. He searches for Alfred- but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Dick- You shouldn’t- We should keep it low, okay?”

“What are those?” he points to the piled newspapers across the table, taking fruit from Bruce’s breakfast plate instead of his. “I wanna read the comic strips.”

“Joker got what he wanted, it’ll be better if you keep away from the comic strips this week.”

“Yeah, but we got what we wanted, too. Don’t you think?”

“Dick, the public… There’s more than- There’s the League, and the authorities, and- This is more complex than you think it is.“

“Then tell me about it.” Dick’s eyes are far from worried. They’re focused and comprehensive, and mischievous, “but first,” he leans in to kiss Bruce’s cheek. “First let me tell you how good you look today. Proceed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heey guys! I hope you've liked the story so far -sorry for grammatical and english mistakes (i don't have a beta reader and english isn't my native language)- andd if you have any comments you're free to leave 'em, thank you for the support!
> 
> (btw u can find me at waynewonders.tumblr.com)
> 
> xox


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